Flip A Coin
by Neurotic Cat Goddess
Summary: After FiftyFifty, four people searching for a different life, or no life at all, decide to let their fate rest on the flip of a coin. Their paths cross as they wait to see who will live and who will die.
1. Temptation

Disclaimer: I don't own the 4400. I'm not writing this for profit. Please don't sue.

Title: Flip a Coin

Chapter One: Temptation

Author: Neurotic Cat Goddess

Amy Carter sat on her bed with her knees tucked under her chin, crying. Her dark hair was messy and tangled, and the dark eyeliner she was always wearing had been so badly smudged that she resembled a raccoon.

She traced the thin white scar on her arm again.

Downstairs, she could hear her parents yelling again. The music wasn't loud enough to drown them out.

She'd tried, she really had, but-

She stood, going to her computer, and pressed a button. She watched for the millionth time as Devon injected herself with Promycin.

Her hands shook, and she dug her ragged nails into her arms.

888

"Robert, there are some files I want you to look over. You don't mind staying a little late, do you?" _Now that there's no one waiting for you at home,_ was the unspoken addition. He did mind, as a matter of fact. Ever since his wife had left him, his whole life seemed to be comprised of going to work, going home and trying to sleep.

"Sure, boss. No problem."

She nodded, grabbing her briefcase and closing the door behind her. The click the door made as it shut behind her was deafening.

Sighing, Robert picked up one of the folders on his desk, and began to flip through the pages inside.

He glanced at his computer screen, the link glowing red.

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Laura took another drag of her cigarette, trying to avoid going back inside the tiny motel room she was renting until she found a real place. She knew she had to go to sleep soon. She was due to start her shift at the 24 hour mart in… she glanced at the clock inside.

Four hours.

She didn't know how she'd ended up like this. She kept replaying her life in her mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything went wrong. Maybe it was when she'd dropped out of high school. Or when she'd first met Jack, or when she'd left him.

She couldn't live like this anymore. She was sick of dwelling on the past.

She closed her eyes and saw that woman's face, the look in her eyes as the Promicin entered her system.

It was time to start over.

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Adam flagged down the first nurse he could find. She was young, pretty, blond. Just his type, in another lifetime. "How is she? Any news?"

The nurse's eyes flicked away for a moment, and he knew. "I'm sorry, sir. It's spread too far. We can't operate, not without killing her."

"How- how long does she have?" Adam felt a lump forming in his throat. He could barely speak around it.

"Not long, sir. A couple of weeks, maybe."

Without his even realizing it, Adam's eyes spread to the TV on the wall across the waiting room. They were talking about the Promycin that had been promised to the world.

The nurse followed his eyes. "Sir, that's not the answer. If you die, you'll leave your daughter alone to face this."

He met her eyes, and the desperation in his eyes left her with no doubt what his decision would be. "You said there's no hope. What choice do I have?"

End Chapter One. Reveiws are greatly appreciated!


	2. Say Goodbye

Title: Flip A Coin

Chapter Two: Say Goodbye

Disclaimer: I don't own the 4400, and I'm not doing this for profit.

_When I decided to get the promicin shot, I didn't tell anyone. I was afraid they'd try to stop me. It was the right decision, I know that now, but it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Imagine kissing your loved ones goodbye, knowing you might never see them again, and having to pretend that it's just an ordinary day. Imagine walking away from them without saying goodbye. I could see them in my mind's eye, after they found out, trying to spot the one clue they missed, the one thing that gave away my intentions. They would spend the rest of their lives not knowing if they could have stopped me. So would I.  
_

Excerpt from _The Promicin Shot: A Memoir._

888 Amy Carter

_Mom and Dad,_

_I'm going to try the Promicin shot. If you don't hear from me in the next couple of days, I'm probably dead-_

No. Amy crumpled the sheet of notebook paper up and threw it in the general vicinity of the trashcan. That was too blunt, too cruel.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I'm sorry._

That wouldn't do either. She wasn't sorry she was doing this. If she was, she wouldn't be writing this letter.

_Mom and Dad-_

Why was this so hard?

888 Robert Johnson

Robert listened to the telephone, willing his ex-wife to pick it up. He wanted to hear her voice one last time.

But the telephone just kept ringing, until finally the answering machine picked up. "Hello, you've reached Cheryl and Lewis. You know what do do!" He hung up. Who the hell was Lewis? Not that plumber she'd been seeing, surely.

He sighed and called back. At the beep, he took a shaky breath and began to speak. "Cheryl. It's me. Robert, your ex-husband. I' I'm sorry about how things ended between us. I… look, I know it would be too much to ask for forgiveness, but… If you don't hear from me again, just- I just want you to know I still love you. I'm so sorry."

_If you don't hear from me again._ What had possessed him to say that? She would probably freak out and call the cops or something.

He considered calling back and leaving a more reassuring message, but it would probably only make things worse. What was done was done.

888 Laura Garcia

"You look sad. Something wrong?" Asha's voice startled Laura out of her reverie.

"Yeah. Is my shift over already?"

"Now I now something must be wrong, girl. You usually can't wait for work to be over."

"Yeah, well…" On an impulse, Laura took a couple of steps forward and hugged Asha. "Thank you so much for helping me out. I know I haven't been so thankful, but- I just want you to know it means a lot to me."

Asha frowned at her. "You got cancer or something?"

"Or something. I'll… I won't be here tomorrow. Maybe not ever." She untied the strings of her apron, then hung it up on its peg. Of one thing she was certain: she'd never wear it again.

Once she got an ability, she'd be able to do whatever she wanted. She wouldn't be stuck scrubbing floors in a convenience mart.

"What do you mean you aren't coming back? You've got to give notice, so you can get your last paycheck. You know that."

Laura shrugged. "Don't worry 'bought me. I'll be fine."

Asha watched her go. "Someday that girl is going to get in a mess she can't fix, mark my words."

888 Adam Scott

Adam brushed a lock of his daughter's hair off her face, and leaned in to press a kiss on her forehead. He'd become so accustomed to the steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of the all the machines keeping Emma alive that he barely noticed them anymore.

She opened her eyes. "Dad? What's going on?"

"Nothing, sweetheart. Just want you to know I love you."

She smiled. "I know, Dad. Don't worry. I'm not afraid of dying."

"Oh, Emma." He started to cry, and she sat up as far as the tubes connected to her would allow, putting her arms gently around her father, trying to comfort him.

"It'll be okay, Dad."

He smiled at her, trying to be strong for his daughter. He wished he had her courage. He should be the one telling her it would be alright, but he couldn't lie to her.

"Bye, Emma. I love you."

"I love you too Dad."

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_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_I know the last few years have been hard on all of us, and I'm sorry for that. I just want you to know that I love you, and I'm sorry if I've been a pain. I've decided to try the Promicin shot, and by the time you read this, it will be too late to stop me._

_This isn't about me wanting to kill myself again, although I'm well aware of the odds. I don't want to die anymore. I want to live a different life. I think that having a 4400 ability might be the key to that. I want you to know that this is my choice, whichever way it turns out. Ever since Katie died, my life has seemed empty. She was my other half, my mirror image. I don't know what do without her. I'm lost. I'm sure you think this is too great a risk to take, and I understand that, but I have to do this.  
_

_I love you both so much. Please don't blame yourselves. This is my decision._

_Love,_

_Amy._

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End Chapter Two.

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	3. Two Lost Souls

PLEASE NOTE!! This is the second version of CHAPTER 3! It is different! If you read chapter 3 before MONDAY, OCTOBER 23, you should read this chapter again because IT IS DIFFERENT, and you won't understand the rest of the story!

Title: Flip A Coin

Chapter Three: Two Lost Souls

Disclaimer: I don't own the 4400, and I'm not doing this for profit.

_I guess there are really two reasons people took the shot. Some of them, like that girl Devon, would do anything for a chance at a superpower. They were reckless enough to risk their lives. You'd think people in this world, in this country especially, would be more cautious. The other reason, though, was that their lives were so miserable they didn't care much if they died, and they saw promicin as a way out. I was the latter. I thought, foolishly, that a 4400 ability would be the answer to all my problems. I was wrong. My ability didn't solve my problems; it created more._

-Excerpt from _The Promicin Shot: A Memoir._

888 Amy Carter

Amy tugged at her hood, pulling it farther down, trying to hide her face. It was cold, far too cold for a summer night. She dug her hands into her pockets, wishing she'd had the presence of mind to wear gloves. It was almost two in the morning, and she navigated the empty streets by the yellow, flickering light of streetlamps.

It was a clear night, but the moon had already set, and when the streetlamp ahead of her flickered and died, Amy was left in total darkness. She cursed. Another thing she'd forgotten: a flashlight. Well, it was too late to go back now.

The old backpack she'd filled with what she'd deemed the essentials seemed twice as heavy now as when she'd climbed out of her bedroom window, and her feet were starting to hurt. She'd been walking the dark, deserted streets of Seattle for over an hour, looking nervously over her shoulder every time she heard a noise, and jumping at every shadow.

It had been easy to sneak out of her house; she'd been doing it for years. Her parents had been telling her to clean her room for months; they'd be surprised when they came in and found it spotless. She made her bed, too, redoing it several times over before she was satisfied. She knew how heartbreaking it was to clean up the room of someone who'd died. She'd sealed the envelope containing the letter she'd written to her parents and placed it carefully on the pillow.

She'd risked going to her parent's bedroom and peeking in. They looked so peaceful there, as if nothing had happened. The night before, though, dinner had been even more quiet than usual, and she was sure they'd known something was wrong.

She stepped over a puddle into the street, looking both ways out of habit even though there were no cars on the road.

A woman walked out of an alleyway a ways ahead of Amy, and she saw that she was holding a hypodermic needle full of the distinctive yellow-green promicin. She clutched it as if it were her most treasured possession. "Hey!" Amy called out, quickening her pace. "Where did you get that?"

The woman flinched at the sound of Amy's voice, glaring at her. Wordlessly, the woman pointed back the way she'd come. Amy turned into the alleyway. She could see a group of about twenty people a ways ahead, waiting in line.

She started toward them, and then stopped, hanging back. She remembered something her sister Katie had said to her once. They had been talking late into the night, like they always did, and the conversation had veered away from boys and gossip to something more serious.

Their grandmother had just passed away, and it was the first time either of them had lost someone they cared about. Amy had made a comment about how she'd never known a dead person before, and Katie had gone quiet.

"What's wrong," Amy had asked. She knew instinctively that her sister was upset about something, even though she couldn't make out her face in the dark. She always knew what her sister was feeling.

"Nothing," Katie had muttered, but Amy had known she was lying.

"Why won't you tell me," she'd asked, hurt. They never kept secrets from each other.

"When we die," Katie had said, "will anyone remember us?"

Amy had laughed uncomfortably. "What do you mean? We're not going to die anytime soon, silly." She'd tried to laugh, but was overcome with an irrational sense of fear. Her sister had always had knack for knowing what was going to happen.

They both fell asleep soon after, and Amy forgot all about that conversation, until three weeks later, when she was at the movies with her boyfriend. They told her later she'd screamed, and then passed out, but she didn't remember. All she could remember was an overwhelming sense of emptiness, and the certainty that her twin sister was gone.

Now Katie's words came back to haunt her. If she took promicin today, and died tomorrow, who would remember her? Her parents, already destroying themselves and each other with grief? Her friends at school, who didn't talk to her anymore because of how much she'd changed?

No, she would leave this world without changing it, without making any impact on the course of people's lives. She would not be remembered, or talked about. It would be as if she had never existed.

A ghost, who lived out her short lifetime without touching the life of anyone else.

The thought disturbed her, and she leaned back against the brick wall of a used bookstore with an old sign advertising "Going out of Business! Sale!" The wall was covered in multicolored graffiti. She bit her lip, and realized she could make a mark on the world, no matter how small. She reached into her bag and drew out a blue Sharpie marker, and wrote a message to whichever lost soul might be here after her.

"Don't worry. We're all lonely." She added a little design of a heart, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. The letters were messy and small, barely visible amidst bright spray painted designs, but they were there.

Someone would read those words, and they would know she had existed.

Smiling a little in triumph, she walked across the street and got in line. A rat squealed, running across the alley, and Amy glanced at all the people around her, trying to determine if any of them were dangerous.

The man ahead of her looked pretty clean-cut, safe enough, she supposed. He had short blond hair, and while she couldn't see his eyes, she assumed they were blue. Classic All-American.

She studied him out of the corner of her eye, keeping her head down in an attempt to avoid attracting attention. She couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here. He looked so normal, like any thirty-some man. He looked like he should be playing baseball or something.

I guess we all have our secrets, Amy thought.

888 Adam Scott

Adam tried not to think of his little girl, lying on a hospital bed with tubes going in and out of her. Her skin was so pale now. She hardly ever went outside. What was he doing? He couldn't leave his little girl all alone. It had been bad enough when Cindy had died. Emma had already lost one parent; he didn't know if she could handle losing two.

But then he remembered what the doctors had said. Emma wasn't going to live to see her tenth birthday, not unless he did something about it. And he had run out of other options.

He tugged his sports jacket closer around him. He didn't know why it was so cold, but it seemed fitting, somehow.

He looked up as someone else got in line behind him. It was a young woman, but he couldn't see her face; it was covered with a hood. A few wisps of dark hair had escaped her ponytail and poked out of her hood.

She turned to look at him, her hood sliding back. He saw that she was just a kid, with dark, piercing eyes. She assessed him for a moment, a cool expression hiding the fact that she was terrified. Finally she judged him to be harmless. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," Robert said. The girl looked a lot like Emma, or how Emma might look if she ever reached her teens. Her hair was different, though. She was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, but from what he could see of her hair, it was long and dark. Emma's was shorter and lighter, but when she got older- if she got older- her hair would probably get darker.

Emma's eyes were always bright with hope, even when it seemed hopeless, but this girl had given up, Adam realized. She wouldn't be here otherwise; she looked like she had so much to live for.

"I'm Amy," the girl said.

"Robert," he replied. He didn't ask the question that he wanted to, why aren't you at home with your parents? He didn't want to pry.

"Nice to meetcha." She bit her lip nervously. "So why are you doing this?" It was a very personal question, but considering they could die soon, Robert saw no reason not to tell her.

"My daughter has a tumor in her brain. The doctors say she doesn't have much time left. I thought, maybe, I might be able to do something. Or find someone who could." He looked down. It seemed like a silly thing to hope for when he said it out loud. What were the chances he'd get the gift of healing, if he lived at all?

"Oh," Amy said softly. He could see something like pity in her eyes.

Trying to divert attention from his life, he asked her, "What about you? You can't be eighteen. Why would you risk you life like this?" He tried not to sound judgmental, but failed.

"I used to have a twin sister. She died last year. I just… couldn't keep going. Something had to change." Now it was his turn to pity her. At least he still had Emma, even if she was dying.

They stood in silence, finding comfort in the knowledge that they were not the only whose life had fallen apart.

"Hey," the guy handing out the promicin said. "You're holding up the line. Do you want some or not?"

Amy didn't hesitate. She grabbed the needle and tucked it into her pocket. Adam reached out to take the needle, but his hand froze halfway. Emma's face flashed across his mind.

"Daddy, promise you won't leave me," she had said. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. It was selfish. He should be there for his daughter; she wouldn't make it without him. But he had already lost his wife. He couldn't lose Emma. Even if it meant she might lose him.

He took the needle.

"You understand the risks, right? Fifty-fifty chance you die?" The man asked.

"Yeah," Amy said. "Heads you live, tails you die."

888 REVIEW!

End Chapter Three.

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	4. Into the Dark

Title: Flip A Coin

Chapter Four: Into the Dark

Disclaimer: I don't own the 4400, and I'm not doing this for profit.

AN: VERY IMPORTANT! I made some changes to Chapter 3, so if you read it before MONDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2006, please go back and read it! There are some things in this chapter that won't make sense otherwise.

Laura lit another cigarette, staring intently across the street. The line wound around the corner and out of sight. Her weathered hand shook as she held the cigarette, and she drummed the fingers of her other hand against the dirty brick wall behind her.

Then sun was just starting to come up, and she could still see a few faint stars. In an hour, people who be getting up for work, the streets would fill with traffic. But for now, the city was empty, and silent.

The buildings around her were tall, gray, and dirty. She could hear seagulls in the distance. On the wall behind here, between gang signs and other graffiti, someone had written in blue sharpie: "Don't worry. We're all lonely." Laura traced the messy letters with her finger, wondering who had written it, and why.

Laura couldn't help wondering if this was what it would be like if there was no one left. With the way things were going now, that seemed a distinct possibility. Once enough people had abilities, everyone would start wanting them.

People without abilities, she realized, might not be able to survive. So she was doing the right thing. Sure, it was risky, but so was being powerless in a world full of people with superpowers. At least this way, she'd be able to fight back. If the promicin didn't kill her, of course.

There were so many people. All different, too. Not just the young punks you'd expect to see risking their lives. There businessmen, models, ordinary people. Laura saw one girl who couldn't have been a day over sixteen. She shook her head. It was one thing for her to do this. Her life was no life at all.

But all these people- they looked like they so much to live for. Surely some of them had children, husbands, wives? Was everyone in that line completely alone?

It didn't matter, anyway. Whether they were risking a perfectly good life, or just hoping to start over, didn't matter.

She dropped the cigarette, into a puddle in the gutter. It hissed for a moment and died. It floated in the dirty water, with a red lipstick stain standing out against the dark ground.

So this was it. She would no longer be Laura Garcia, the former stripper from Los Angeles. She wouldn't ever have to clean up a mess on aisle five again.

She got in line behind a middle-aged man. He had a shiny bald spot on the top of his head, and his clothes had clearly been bought when he had a smaller waistline, but he was clean, and well groomed.

He looked like someone who worked in an office all day, with pasty skin and flabby arms. Out of habit, she checked his hand for a ring. There was none, but she could make out a faint tan line where he'd once worn a wedding band.

So his wife had died, maybe, or he'd gotten a divorce. She studied him. Divorce, probably. He looked like the kind of man who'd keep wearing a wedding ring if his wife was killed, out of habit if nothing else.

All in all, he seemed like a decent guy. Not so easy on the eyes, but then, neither was she. She knew how she looked, with teeth stained by years of smoking, and her hair limp and damaged.

Oh, she tried to look good, which was more than she could say for the man. She died her hair blonde and wore too much makeup, but it did little to hide her age. Not that she old, of course. If she'd been rich, she would probably still look like she was in her twenties. But she'd hit the bit four-oh a few years back, and she'd never been much of a beauty queen to start with.

Besides, the man looked like he was well off, and what did she have to lose? There was a fifty-fifty chance she'd be dead in the next couple of days anyway. So she smiled at him, but she kept her mouth closed so he wouldn't see her teeth. She'd been meaning to whiten them, but she never seemed to have to time or the energy.

"I'm Laura," she told him, and he looked up, surprised. He looked around, as if he was trying to figure out who she was talking to. When he finally realized she was addressing him, he blinked a couple of times in surprise. The action was magnified behind his glasses, and Laura found the effect slightly repulsive.

"Oh," he said. "I'm Robert." He offered her a friendly smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Robert," Laura said, unable to come up with anything better to say.

"You too."

The silence stretched on, both of them trying to think of some mundane tidbit to create conversation. Robert anxiously tapped his foot.

"So. What do you think of the weather," he asked her, wincing as the words came out.

Laura had to restrain herself from laughing. Had this guy seriously just asked her about the weather? "It's… fine."

There was another awkward pause. Laura was beginning to feel bad for the guy. "Why are you doing this?" She finally asked.

888

Robert stood in line, looking down at his feet. He couldn't keep from glancing around every few seconds. This was a bad part of town, and he was certain that, any minute, a gangbanger would come up to him and stab him, or rob him. He flinched when he saw a young man with a shaved head walking down the street toward him, but he just walked past, not even looking in Robert's direction.

"I'm Laura." The voice caught him by surprise. He looked up to see a middle-aged Latina woman standing behind him in line. She was pretty enough, he supposed, in a worn-down sort of way.

He looked around to see who she was talking to, then realized she was addressing him. They exchanged awkward small talk until the woman, Laura, finally asked the question they had both been thinking.

"Why are you doing this?"

Robert shrugged uncomfortably, not wanting to begin a litany of all that had gone wrong in his life. He didn't want to seem like he was whining.

"Honestly," he said, "There isn't anything in my life worth sticking around for."

Laura nodded. "I can understand that. I think everyone here can."

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